


in the north, the king

by Poose, seven_hells (Poose)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Kink Meme, M/M, Rimming, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/seven_hells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Stannis and Jon have an argument that leads to angry sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the north, the king

The bastard boy commander came as bidden, took a knee, and then proceeded to fight him at every turn.   
  
 _I do not require the councils of a child,_ he thought,  _and yet the boy speaks sense._  He was not unlike Davos in that regard, not afraid to speak truth to power. He was a pup above his station, of that Stannis had little doubt, and yet he had proved his worth in battle. His council might prove worthy after all.   
  
"You are all dismissed," he told his bannermen, who cleared out quick enough.   
  
 _She_ remained at his elbow. Lurking, his silent shadow. "Do you wish me to bar the door, Your Grace?"   
  
"Yes," he said. "And wait on the other side of it." She dipped her head in acknowledgment and left the room in a swirl of silk. _Silent as a shadow,_ she was. The boy in black, on the other hand  breathed far too loudly, inhaling and exhaling through his mouth. The very sound of it made the nape of Stannis' neck prickle. The boy bent over his maps to show him where he must needs march.

"Here," he said, marking the spot with a finger, "go here, not to the Dreadfort. Take your host to the west along these paths to rally the clans." 

"You would have me wait," Stannis ground his teeth, "I have a war to wage and scant time to scour the hills."   
  
He looked up, dark hair falling across his face. "It will serve you better that way. The clans are fierce. They will fight for you."   
  
"Your Grace," Stannis, reprimanded. "I am your _king_ , child. Or have you forgotten that already?" And yet even as he said it, he desired to brush that black strand away with his fingers, to see if the boy commander's mouth was as soft as it looked. His hand reached out and brought forth only a flinch in return. A red rage washed over him.   
  
Stannis only thought to stroke the boy's hair but instead he grabbed a fistful of it, pushing his curly head down onto the map of the north.   
  
"You would have me tarry," he scolded him, a firm hand on the back of his neck now. The skin there was smoother than he imagined, the hair on the nape of his neck downy and fine. Stannis understood that most men felt love for their wives and passion for their whores, though he himself visited Selyse's bed with each turn of the seasons, and he was not Robert, he had never bedded a whore.

 _Was your mother a whore, boy?_ he wondered. Perhaps that would explain the reason he set Stannis' blood on edge, why he began to make sense of why a man might fuck a woman not his wife. Stannis stroked his thumb over the skin. For his own part, the boy's struggle told in his shoulders, tense with the need to fight back and defend his honor, and a strong sense of duty, and maybe even a dose of that hot bastard blood. 

The cold at the Wall seeped through wool and fur. Stannis shivered all the time, save for when his lady laid hands upon him and brought his temperature back up to that of the living.  _Lord of Light, my arse,_  he wanted to say to her.  _Lord of a Decent Fire would suit me better._ That was a jest, though, and His Grace never made jests.   
  
Stannis lifted his hand to see if the boy would remain still, there upon the table. And so he did, even when he walked behind him. _Do your duty. Serve your king._ "Take them down," he said, softly. Stannis wanted to see if he would obey. Fewer and fewer men were loyal to their kings in these troubled times. The bastard might protest, but he was Lord Stark's son and lacked not at all for honor.   
  
 _Is this honorable?_  he wondered, as the black gave way to white. He placed a hand on the swell of the boy's backside, full and soft like his lips. The skin was cool and smooth, becoming hairier towards the crease of his arse. Stannis used a booted toe to kick his legs apart, and he stumbled but remained upright. _Bent, bowed, and broken._ Stannis took the knee for neither man nor boy, but he knelt on the cold stone floor of his solar to see if he could make this one cry out.   
  
His mouth alone produced quiet grunts and shuffles. Stannis drew forth a sweet whimper when he curled a finger inside of him. Two fingers grazed a spot deep within that made his legs tremble, and the boy groaned as Stannis dipped his fingers in and out, stretching and preparing him to receive his king.   
  
He opened his pants and drew his cock out, touching it to bare skin. Stannis spit into his own palm and then shoved it beneath the bastard's nose.   
  
"You as well," he told him. "It will hurt less that way."   
  
The boy spat into his cupped hand. Stannis slicked himself, steadied the bastard with a hand on his taut waist, and pushed inside him with one smooth thrust.   
  
The table withstood the onslaught, and the boy took everything Stannis gave him, took it all, spreading his legs and arching his back like the whore his mother probably was, mumbling now a stream of curses and breathless pants as Stannis pinned his hands to the table and drove his release from him onto the map of Westeros beneath. 


End file.
